The Elder Scrolls: Blood
by WaywardHunters
Summary: Twenty years before the return of Alduin, power comes at a price: blood. Rated M for language and gore.
1. Planning Death

_Middas, 5th of Morning Star, 4E 180_

Since his arrival in Windhelm, Dakarus Githyron had accepted a simple truth: only the powerful get a say.

That wasn't to say he didn't have any influence; he got along well enough with the other Dunmer in the Gray Quarter, and even some of the Nords that didn't stumble through the slums after a night of drinking. He had even made a name for himself as a mercenary in several holds. But each time he came home, the Gray Quarter seemed worse off. His kin had already given up on the idea that things could change long before he arrived from Solstheim seeking a life more exciting than what the Redoran Guard offered. Even Brunwulf Free-Winter, one of the few vocal Nords that spoke on behalf of both the Dunmer sequestered in the slums of the Gray Quarter and the Argonians banned from entering the city at all, had all but given up trying to change the new Jarl's mind.

Dakarus had done more than his fair share to make living in the Gray Quarter bearable. He had delved into ruins and fortresses to kill gangs of criminals and beasts for multiple holds, and spent every septim trying to improve even the most basic aspects of their lives. But each night, a group of Nords drunkenly swept through the Gray Quarter to cause any kind of chaos they could. Whether it was vandalism, theft, or even assault, they knew it kept the Dunmeri morale in check.

This was why Dakarus was in the New Gnisis Cornerclub finishing his seventh round of sujamma. He looked from the broken slats of the walls to the bartender, Ambarys, and motioned for another round.

"No more, serjo. You don't need to be getting into another brawl with some half-wit Nord," he said as he grabbed Dakarus's glass. "Go home and get some rest before I embarrass the both of us by trying to kick you out." With a short nod, Dakarus dropped a coin purse on the table. Once he gained his balance, he managed to stumble out of the club without tripping over his own feet. The cold air was refreshing, but he could do without the smell that seemed to exist solely in the Gray Quarter. But the smell couldn't compete with the liquor running through his body, and he felt himself drift to sleep.

* * *

Pain erupted in Dakarus's ribs and forced the breath out of his lungs. His eyes snapped open to see a boot crash into his nose. The kick forced his body to roll over and land his face in the snow. Blood streamed down his face onto the ground as his now-broken nose throbbed. "Damn elf, drunk as a dog and sleeping on the street. Where'd you get that armor, Grayskin? Steal it from some poor soul on your 'travels'?" the assailant mocked.

Dakarus arduously rolled to face his attacker. He was a Nord man, dressed in light clothing with a mug in his hand. His mustache dripped mead onto the snow, and his body swayed as he stood in front of Dakarus. Next to him was another Nord, this one with thinning hair dressed in rags. Dakarus knew their names, but the liquor in his belly and the pain in his head clouded his memory. "Fuck off, icebrain," he slurred. He tried to stand, but the Nord with the mustache unsheathed a dagger and placed it to Dakarus's throat.

"Try to fight back, you filthy ashface! Give me a reason to have the guard ransack your gods-damned trash heap and show your grayskin friends what we think of them," he hissed through clenched teeth. Dakarus was an excellent warrior, but he knew when he was beat. He slumped his head in defeat, which the Nords took as understanding of their threat. The Nord with the mustache removed his dagger from Dakarus's throat and shambled off. When they were out of sight, Dakarus felt his consciousness slip as his head fell into the snow.

* * *

The next morning, Dakarus woke to Ambarys slowly pouring water into his mouth. His nose and ribs were throbbing. _Definitely broken,_ he thought angrily. He had taken some abuse, verbal and otherwise, back home in Solstheim with the guard. Nerevar's balls, he had dished some out himself. But to beat a man when he was piss-drunk? They had never stooped so low.

"Welcome to the land of the living, serjo. I found you passed out in your own blood when I went to take out the garbage," Ambarys said. "I patched you up the best I could, but you're going to want to see a healer or get some potions. They don't teach those things I the Legion, unless you're born with it that is."

Dakarus breathed deeply, which hurt like Oblivion.

"Don't worry about me, Ambarys. Just take my gold and get me a few potions. I'll try not to bleed on your floor in the meantime" Ambarys nodded, took Dakarus's pouch of septims, and left. Not five minutes had passed before the door to the Cornerclub flew open. Suvaris Atheron, the Dunmer steward of the Shatter-Shield family rushed to Dakarus, concern in her eyes. "It was Rolff, wasn't it? That Nord son of a bitch finally had the nerve to go after the one person protecting us," she said, tears welling in her eyes.

This wasn't the first time one of the city's Dunmer had gotten emotional over his actions, but it didn't make Dakarus any more comfortable with the situation. Give him a bandit chief or a horde of rieklings, and he was comfortable with crushing their skulls with his mace. But emotions? They weren't his strong suit.

He awkwardly shifted on his bed roll. "It doesn't matter if it was Rolff, Suvaris. His brother is the Jarl's right hand man. That's a fight even I'm not willing to lose," he said. This, of course, only made Suvaris start to sob.

"Dakarus, I've done everything I can to change things here. Before you came, all I could do was pay off guards to make some patrols through the Gray Quarter. I've even resorted to trying to call those Dark Brotherhood cutthroats to get rid of Rolff!" She buried her face in her hands. "You must think I'm pathetic, resorting to murder to try to get some kind of peace in this shithole."

Her face was hidden in her hands, so Suvaris couldn't see the plan forming in Dakarus's eyes.


	2. Killer's Troubles

_Middas, 5_ _th_ _of Morning Star, 4E 180_

Beitild shoveled the last of the iron ore into the smelter. Her workers, despite her many threats to fire them, had brought in a pathetic amount of iron in from the mine today. _If these milk-drinkers don't start bringing in more ore, Leigelf is going drive me out of business,_ she thought. _Gods damn me if I let that pig kick me out of my own home and put me out of business!_

She threw the shovel down in anger. So what if he had walked in on her with one of the sailors? Did that give him the right to leave her alone, and try to ruin her life? She had tried to reason with him, to tell him that he was spending too long at the mine and she was lonely. But did he listen? No! He kept on working well into the night, and who could blame her for falling for the charms of that sailor?

She didn't know she was crying until she felt her tears freeze in the icy Dawnstar wind. She shook her head and gathered her equipment and placed it in her pack. Her house was just down the road, near the dock. It was less than a mile away, but however much she loved her family mine, she was getting sick of the walk. She and Leigelf had walked it together for years into their marriage; now that he had left, all it did was force memories of him into her mind.

Beitild didn't know it yet, but she would never have to hurt again.

* * *

The target was walking alone in the middle of the night. Jo'Kaasi couldn't believe how easy this kill was going to be. He had been lying in wait to get the mine boss alone all day, and it looked like his patience would be rewarded with a simple job. His tail twitched in anticipation. Contracts had been running slow; Mother said that with the Thalmor's heavy presence in Skyrim, less people were likely to perform the Black Sacrament. After all, the common rabble weren't very skilled in hiding their worship for their man-god, let alone creating an effigy of their victim and praying to the Night Mother.

Jo'Kaasi had read all about the Dark Brotherhood's supposed matriarchal a cub, a corpse that spoke only to her Listener. He had once asked Mother if it were true, that the Bride of Sithis spoke at all. They had been preparing dinner for the Family together in the Sanctuary, his duty as a cub. She had only ruffled his ears and told him that the Dark Brotherhood had moved passed such fanatic nonsense; these kills were for gold and gold alone. "Now, finish slicing those carrots. You know how Uncle Festus gets when dinner is late," she had said. Jo'Kaasi had wanted to question her further, but who was he to question his mother? She had raised him to be a perfect assassin; quick on his feet, an excellent conjuror, and a silent shadow. Her teachings and love had kept him alive on more than one occasion. Even then, he knew her word to be final.

That was the one constant he knew to be true: his mother always knew what was best for him. That's why she had given him such a straightforward kill. After his last contract, killing a well defended noble on the road to Solitude, his mother had suggested a low profile kill. He had agreed that a simple kill would be good for him, but he had managed to talk her into a more exciting kill than some crazy beggar in Ivarstead.

A cry of pain jolted him out of his memories. He looked for Beitild, but he couldn't see her walking the path anymore. _Shit shit shit,_ he thought frantically. There was no way he was going to lose this kill, not such a simple, easy job. The cries of pain continued, so at least she hadn't gotten far. He ran out into the path, daggers already conjured in his hands. He ran down the icy path towards the target's house, and had to slow down so he didn't slip. Near the house, he saw her. It seemed she had slipped and broke her leg, and was trying to get help from the single guard walking his patrol across town. _Shit shit shit shit shit!_

He ran as fast as he could, the cold wind cutting through his fur. The guard had heard her cries, and was making his way over to investigate. Jo'Kaasi pounced as soon as he was within distance of Beitild. He landed on her back, forcing the air out of her lungs and temporarily halting her cries. He plunged his dagger into her neck as quickly as he could. The breath she was taking stopped with a choking sound. Jo'Kaasi had no time to revel in his kill, or even hide the body. That guard would see him if he didn't run _now._

The Khajiit ran as fast as he could into the woods. He heard the guard yell for a healer, which only pushed him to run harder. The wind and snow batted against his face, and his muscles burned. The black and red leather armor had enchantments to keep him hidden, but none to help him once he had been outed.

He didn't know for how long he ran, but he did know that passing out from exhaustion in the snow wasn't his best moment. His black fur was covered in snow, and his body ached. _At least the bucket-heads didn't catch me. A murder is hard enough to get out of, harder if you have a tail and fur in this Sithis-damned province,_ he thought. His armor did nothing to keep the cold out, but he had no choice to tough it out alone. He would definitely leave some details out of his story when the Family asked.


	3. Death of a Bastard

_Morndas, 10_ _th_ _of Morning Star, 4E 180_

Dakarus crouched in the shadows of an alley near the entrance of the Gray Quarter. His steel plated armor was freshly repaired from the smith and keeping him warm in the Eastmarch wind. He had waited nearly a week for tonight. Ambarys and Suvaris had encouraged his plan, but Belyn Hlaalu the farmer had shared some of his choice words. "This is how you fetchers think we're going to get the Nords to respect us? By killing one of them?" They had at least convinced him to keep his mouth shut if the guards caught wind of Dakarus's involvement.

His plan was simple enough; he would leave a note claiming the kill for the Dark Brotherhood the same night Dakarus was leaving for a job in Dawnstar. Suvaris and Ambarys would cover for him, and Belyn would claim ignorance if it was linked to Dakarus. He wouldn't even use his mace. The rest of the Gray Quarter and the rest of the city were unaware that Dakarus was adept at Destruction magic, particularly frost.

The night air was below freezing, but beads of sweat glistened on his shaved head. _Vivec's balls, I shouldn't be this nervous,_ he thought. He had killed men before, but never for a personal matter. Those had always been bandits, killers, and deserved it. Dakarus had the bounties to prove that much. And even as a Redoran Guard on Solsthiem, he had killed reavers that attacked Raven Rock. He had never _wanted_ to kill someone before.

 _I will never feel as powerless as I did when that fetcher held that knife to my throat,_ he thought angrily.

A slurred shout rang out against the stone walls. "Wakey-wakey, you shitfaced grayskins! Don't think you're gonna get any sleep while you're polluting our city with your stink!"

His fingers tingled with anticipation. This was the moment he would rid the Gray Quarter of Rolff Stone-Fist and his drunken tirades. It wouldn't do much to alleviate the suffering of his Dunmer brethren, but Dakarus had a bone to break with this Nord prick. He stepped out of the shadows to block Rolff's path. The man reeked of alcohol, and was having a difficult time walking in a straight line. There was even vomit running down the front of his shirt. Dakarus grimaced. Who was going to miss this bastard anyways?

"That's enough, Rolff," Dakarus said gruffly. Rolff squinted through his drunken haze, then started laughing when he registered who was speaking to him. He stumbled towards Dakarus with a finger pointed at the elf. "Oh, the hero of the fucking Gray Quarter, here to defend his precious ashface friends! Isn't that priceless?" He took a wild swing that Dakarus easily dodged. _This is it,_ he thought.

He pulled on the invisible strings of magicka to form a shard of ice. His eyes burned with hatred for the drunk. He raised his hand to launch the shard at Rolff's face when pain exploded in the back of his head. The world spun as he fell the the ground. Behind him was the beggar Angrenor with a board in his hands. Blood dripped off the end of the board. Dakarus's blood.

Rage flowed through Dakarus like a fire. He grabbed the handle of his mace as he got to his feet and unhooked it from his belt. _Fuck this,_ he thought, _these n'wahs are dead!_ His vision was blurred, but he swung his mace in a downward arc at the beggar. It caught the man at the shoulder, crushing his collarbone. The man cried out in pain as he fell. Normally, Dakarus would feel some remorse for killing another person, but these bastards had caused him and his brethren more than their fair share of misery. He stomped his boot down on Angrenor's head and relished in the sound of his skull cracking beneath it.

Dakarus looked towards Rolff, who was staring at him in horror. "Y-you killed A-angrenor… i-in cold b-blood," the Nord stuttered. His eyes were filled with terror, and Dakarus couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement rush through him. "That's right, you fucking bastard. And I'm going to kill you and pin it on those Dark Brotherhood freaks."

Rolff tried to call for help, but it was cut short by a shard of ice lodged in his throat. Blood poured from the the gash, and choked his screams. Dakarus rushed over to the Nord and held him by his hair. He brought Rolff's eyes to his own. "This is what I want you to see last, Rolff. A filthy, gray-skinned ashface watching the light drain from your eyes," he hissed through clenched teeth. Slowly, as his blood pooled on the ground below him, Rolff's life ended.

* * *

The shrouded figure leaned against a beam on the top of the Candlehearth Hall. She watched as the dark elf slaughtered her target's beggar friend. Her leather clad fingers rapped against the wood while her other hand twirled her dagger in the air. _Well, as amusing as this is, I can't really let him kill my target,_ she thought. The assassin leapt from the roof of the inn to the snow-covered pavement. Her enchanted leathers kept her landing silent.

She turned the corner just as the Dunmer sent a shard of ice into the target's throat. _Sithis-damnit,_ she thought angrily. Now she would have to kill the elf to not leave a witness, and return home and claim the kill for herself. Sighing, she raised her dagger to throw when she heard the dark elf's words to the Nord. Something about watching the life drain out of him.

Astrid lowered her dagger and smiled under her cowl. _Well, this just got interesting!_


	4. Home

_Fredas, 7_ _th_ _of Morning Star, 4E 180_

Falkreath hold's fog did nothing to improve Jo'Kaasi's mood. After he lost the guards in Dawnstar, he had stolen a horse that was heavily opposed to the change in ownership. To make matters worse, a storm hit near Whiterun that had soaked him to his bones. His cloak was ruined from all of the water, and his fur smelled like wet rugs. _Arnbjorn is never going to let me live this down,_ he thought bitterly as he entered the Sanctuary. All he wanted to do was give Mother as little details about the contract as possible, and go to sleep. _Maybe Gabriella will have something to get this smell out of my fur…_

He walked down the ancient steps and turned the corner into the entryway of the Sanctuary. Mother was stopped over the large table in front of her and Arnbjorn's room, marking something on the map of Skyrim laying on it. She looked up from her work and smiled when she saw him, her hard blue eyes softening. "Ah, my cub has arrived. How was your kill, darling?"

Jo'Kaasi looked sheepishly at the ground. "It could have gone better, Mother. I let my mind wander and I lost sight of the target, which just made everything more difficult than it should have been," he said quietly. Mother sighed, walked over to him, and wrapped her arms around him. She pulled his head to her shoulder and ruffled his ears. "Don't worry, my cub. You're still young, you're allowed to make some mistakes. But as long as you learned from it and killed the target, it's all worked out," she said as she gave him a squeeze and released him. "Now go on into the chamber and join the Family."

He entered the main chamber where the Family stood gathered near the training dummies. They were in the middle of swapping stories. "Tell us the part where he tries to buy you some candy," Veezara laughed. Babette giggled. "Okay, okay, wait," she said. She began speaking like an old man, saying, "'Oh, you're such a pretty little girl. Would the sweetie like a sweetie? Oh yes, how about some chocolate?' So I said, 'Oh yes please, kind sir! My mama and papa left me all alone, and I'm so very hungry! I know a shortcut to the candy shop, just through this alley!' So he gets this disgusting smirk on his face and takes my hand. We turn the corner into it and he goes, 'Oh my, it's dark down here, but you're so beautiful! What a lovely little smile!'" She grinned and let her fangs sink down. "Then I showed him just how pretty my smile was! 'Oh my, your teeth! _Your teeth!'"_

The Family burst into laughter, and Jo'Kaasi couldn't help but giggle along with them. After his shitstorm of a kill, it was good to hear another one of Babette's stories. No one in the Dark Brotherhood needed any more reason to kill than Mother's orders, but it seemed fitting that the undead child-thing was the one to kill so many perverts. And something about Babette's stories seemed personal, like she had a vendetta against her targets. Jo'Kaasi had asked Mother about it once, and she had warned him against asking unless he wanted Aunt Babette to brew him up into a stew.

As the laughter settled, Arnbjorn looked at Jo'Kaasi. "What about you, furball? Any marvelous stories to tell us?" The Khajiit's ears folded back in irritation. _What I wouldn't give to have a nice, warm, wolf skin to keep me warm,_ he thought. "It was fine, Arnbjorn. Just some mine boss in Dawnstar," he said coldly. The werewolf stared into Jo'Kaasi's eyes with disdain. He had never been able to figure out why Arnbjorn hated him so much. The werewolf was Mother's husband, but he absolutely despised Jo'Kaasi. _Maybe he's afraid Mother only needs one furball in her life._ Nazir sensed the tension building, and chimed in with one of his puns.

"Well, you know, working in the mines is a cutthroat business! And those hours - they're murder!"

And with that, the tension melted. Arnbjorn's large frame was rocked with laughter as he gathered his smithing tools. Jo'Kaasi walked with Nazir through the dusty tunnels of the Sanctuary to the dining hall. "Why does he hate me so much, Uncle?" Jo'Kaasi asked. Nazir sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who knows? Maybe you're just bad for his allergies," he said. "Now go help Festus with dinner. That old coot's started enough fires for the week."


	5. Bloody Bard

_Loredas, 8_ _th_ _of Morning Star, 4E 180_

"All I'm saying is, why sneak around and waste time when you can just throw a fireball at their face?"

Jo'Kaasi rolled his eyes. Festus was arguing with Veezara about the time it took the latter to complete his contracts. The Argonian did take more time than was probably necessary, but he always did so without so much as a scuff mark on the target's floor. Once, Jo'Kaasi had heard that Veezara had spent a month in a tent outside of Whiterun and killed some hunter out on the plains. The guards and everyone else in the city had determined the elf had underestimated the fury of a bear after sticking an arrow in its side. He had even been found under the bear, its maw locked around the hunter's throat. "Sithis forbid some of us don't like alerting the whole damned province when we're there, old man," Veezara sighed. Festus laughed heartily. "To each his own, I guess," he said, "but there's nothing quite like the smell of burning flesh on a lovely night."

The Family was gathered around the main table, enjoying breakfast. Their conversations varied from the awful weather they'd been experiencing to the best way to stab a target in the back. Gabriella had prepared excellent pastries and meats for them. Jo'Kaasi wasn't sure how normal families operated in Skyrim, but he doubted they had the love and loyalty that his did. Everyone provided something for the Family. They all killed proficiently, of course, but their more mundane skills were unmatched as far as Jo'Kassi was concerned. Gabriella could cook circles around the finest chefs in all of Tamriel. He hated to admit it, but even without Festus's enchantments, Arnbjorn had done a fine job on their armor.

Conversations came to a slow halt as Mother walked into the dining hall with an armful of scrolls. "Does anyone need their blade bloodied?" she coyly said. The energy in the room focused immediately on the scrolls. _Contracts,_ Jo'Kaasi thought excitedly. Mother began calling names as she tossed the contracts to each member of the Family. The scroll that landed in Jo'Kaasi's hand read the usual information, a name and general location. From what he understood from the stories Babette had told him, the Dark Brotherhood used to receive specifics on their targets from the Night Mother and her Listener. There hadn't been a Listener for years, though, and Mother's process seemed to get the job done well enough.

"Lurbuk, Morthal… Why does that name sound familiar?" he said. Nazir, who sat next to him, grimaced. "You've probably heard me sharing details of how I'd like to kill that annoying Orc. He is, by all accounts, the worst bard in all of Skyrim. Apparently, Astrid had to hold a lottery to determine a client," he said. Jo'Kaasi's ears perked up, and his tail twitched. _Bards usually stay at inns, meaning lots of potential witnesses. I can definitely make up for Dawnstar with this._ The others began stacking their dishes and moving to gather their equipment. In Jo'Kaasi's case, this just meant grabbing a few health potions and a set of inconspicuous clothing. His affinity for magic had been discovered at an early age, which kept him from having to lug around weapons.

As he passed through the entryway of the Sanctuary to the door, Mother called his name. She didn't look up as she packed her things. Jo'Kaasi stood in the doorway to her room. "Watch yourself out there, my cub. Nazir wasn't entirely joking about your contract; there were various parties vying for the contract. It wouldn't surprise me if once some of them found out we took the job from someone else, they hired some thug to do our job for us. So, if any do get in your way, consider them collateral damage."

Jo'Kaasi nodded. "Of course, Mother. We wouldn't want any old bandit thinking they can just up and steal our kills, can we?" Mother grinned as she tied her pack together. As she passed him, she ruffled the his ears. If anyone else had pet him, he'd relieve their hand from their body. In fact, once in a tavern a drunk Breton girl had done so, and she screamed oh so loudly when he sliced her fingers off. She had been fine, of course; his spectral daggers cauterized the wounds with their otherworldly material. When Mother did it, however, it filled him with pride. He was proud to be her son, adopted or otherwise. He followed her out of the Sanctuary and hugged her, wishing her a good kill. The pool next to the Black Door bubbled and frothed, and out of the ghostly water rose Shadowmere, Mother's steed. Jo'Kaasi pet the horse's side as he walked towards Falkreath.

* * *

 _Sundas, 9_ _th_ _of Morning Star, 4E 180_

The carriage driver took the gold from Jo'Kaasi's hand. "Hope you have a good stay in Morthal, friend," he said. Jo'Kaasi gave the man a nod. _With as little Khajiit that travel Skyrim alone, you'd think these hairless fuckers would have noticed a trend with people dying when a lone, black-furred Khajiit rolls into town,_ he thought amusedly. He strolled into the town, his simple tunic and trousers covering his more sinister apparel. The capital city of Hjaalmarch Hold was large for the area, with parts of the city built on the lake it surrounded. Boats and their owners sat at the docks, enjoying the morning sun despite the fog still hanging over the city. Jo'Kaasi was pleased with the weather as well, but for a much different reason. The fog would be useful to keep himself hidden when he slit Lurbuk's throat later tonight.

He passed the Jarl's longhouse, where a group of citizens gathered in front of the entrance. They were angry, all yelling at the Jarl's steward. Something about a man taking up with some woman a day after his wife and daughter burned alive in their home. Jo'Kaasi rolled his eyes as he passed them to the inn. People killed people for far less than lust, which is probably what cause the house to burn in the first place. He'd never understand how mundane people couldn't understand the way life worked. These thoughts continued to float around in his head as he entered the Moorside Inn. He paid the innkeeper, a Redguard woman with dark hair, for a room. He had seen the Orc outside with the group of people outside, so he'd have to wait until later in the night.

* * *

Out of a deep slumber, Jo'Kaasi's ears were assaulted by possibly the worst lute playing he had ever heard. In the middle of the inn stood an old Orc, dancing around like a fool while his fat belly hung from his tunic. His hair was pulled back into dreadlocks, with what looked like pieces of food stuck in them. The inn was empty save for the innkeeper and two other people. At one table sat a Nord with shaggy brown hair in iron armor, drinking mead from the bottle. At the other sat an Imperial garbed in leather armor. The bald Imperial had facial tattoos and two swords at his sides. _I'll watch that one,_ Jo'Kaasi thought. The bard's "song" was something about the innkeeper's behind. Jo'Kaasi was never one to question the motives of the Dark Brotherhood's clients, but he did like to understand them. And with this contract, he definitely understood. As the fat Orc finished his song, the lyrics of which were so disjointed and mumbled the other patrons cheered when it finished, he leaned against the bar.

"Jonna, do you think the townspeople are warming up to my serenades?" he said drunkenly. The innkeeper, Jonna, looked at the bard with disdain. She swatted his hand away as he grabbed at her breast. "No. They ain't. And they aren't gonna. If you weren't paying for your room, I'd have thrown you out a long time ago." Lurbuk's drunken grin only seemed to get bigger. "Yes. But they'll come around. You'll see."

"Oh. I wouldn't be surprised if they came 'round. And you're never seen or heard from again," Jonna said. The bard's belly shook with laughter. He started to shamble towards the inn's exit. The Nord at one of the tables looked concerned. "Are you gonna let him run around town drunk like that?" The innkeeper shrugged her shoulders. "Hopefully the guards will lock him up and give me some piece for the night."

Jo'Kaasi opened the door for the drunk bard. As he stumbled out, the assassin began quietly stalking him. The Orc could barely walk in a straight line. Jo'Kaasi gathered magicka in his hands and conjured a bow and quiver from Oblivion. He let Lurbuk stumble for a few yards, and knocked a spectral arrow and drew his bow. He took aim at the back of Lurbuk's head, took a breath, and-

Pain exploded in the side of his head, and his bow fizzled out of reality. As he fell to the ground, he saw the Imperial run past him. _That motherfucker!_ He thought dizzily. He shakily stood up, and watched as the Imperial gained on Lurbuk. He gathered more magicka as quickly as he could and as the bow rematerialized, he knocked and drew an arrow. He let it fly into the Imperial's leg. By the time he hit the ground, Lurbuk had turned around and saw Jo'Kaasi draw the man's sword and plunge it into his head. His skull cracked as the blade drove into the ground.

Lurbuk's eyes grew wide. His hands shook as he slowly stepped towards Jo'Kaasi. "Y-you saved m-me… He was going to kill me…" The assassin let go of the now dead Imperial's sword and walked towards him. "Someone hired the Dark Brotherhood to kill you, Lurbuk," he said to the Orc. The bard's eyes grew even wider. "Killing Lurbuk… I mean, can you even imagine something so ludicrous? Depriving the world of my unique talents?"

In his drunken state, the Orc couldn't fight off Jo'Kaasi as his fist landed on his windpipe, crushing it.


	6. Family Matters

_Middas, 12_ _th_ _of Morning Star, 4E 180_

Dakarus opened his eyes slowly, the world blurry. His head pounded. _What the fuck happened to me?_ He slowly gathered his bearings and took in his surroundings. He was in a shack of some kind with bloodstains on the floor. Next to him was a Nord boy that appeared to be around nineteen. In front of him, a woman in red and black leathers sat on top of an empty bookcase. She lounged with one glove off, picking at her fingernails with a dagger, with a serrated dagger at her hip. Dakarus rose to his feet. _Who does this bitch think she is?_ he thought angrily. He reached for his mace, only to find he was restrained. The elf began gathering magicka in his hand, only for his frost magic to fall into snow. The woman looked up at him and grinned. "So sorry about that, friend. Little bit of old spellwork to keep those pretty icicles from coming into contact with my face," she said as she pointed her dagger at Dakarus. "I'll make this simple. That beggar's life, bothersome as it may have been to you, was not yours to take." She then pointed at the Nord boy. "Just as killing the old crone in Riften wasn't your task, boy. And now, unfortunately, one of you must repay your debt to the Dark Brotherhood. So, I'm going to toss this dagger in between the two of you, and one of you is going to slit the other's throat. If you refuse, or foolishly decide on an attempt to escape, you should know that all of the exits to this cabin are enchanted to trigger a rather large explosion that would make quite a mess."

Dakarus looked to the Nord boy next to him. His blue eyes were wide with fright. The woman on the bookshelf tossed the dagger at the pair, and the boy scrambled on the ground and grabbed it. His hands shook vigorously. He gripped the dagger with both hands and pointed it at Dakarus. "Listen, m-mister, I gotta get outta here. J-just sit still and I'll t-try to make it q-quick for you. Please!" he stammered.

Dakarus sighed. He pulled his arms apart, tearing the ropes binding his wrists. The Nord boy let out a yell as he wildly slashed at the elf. Dakarus sidestepped the boy's initial strike. He put his hand on the Nord's back and shoved him towards the wall. His head knocked against the shack wall, and he fell to the floor, dazed. Dakarus walked slowly towards him and reached down to grab him by the hair. The boy whipped around and managed to force the dagger into Dakarus's shoulder. The elf bellowed in rage. He grabbed the Nord's hair and hoisted him up to his feet. Dakarus held the boy's head in place as he slammed is his fist into the Nord's face. Over and over, Dakarus's fist pounded his face. He kept hitting the Nord until the fistful of hair he was holding slipped off of the bloody mess that was his head. The Nord's body slid to the ground as dead weight. Dakarus's chest heaved from the exertion. He reached up and slowly pulled the dagger out of his shoulder. His teeth clenched as the blade slid out of the wound. He gripped the handle, preparing to lodge it into the skull of that condescending bitch that brought him here. He turned around to see the door to the shack open, and a letter sat where the woman had. Dakarus picked the letter up, a black hand on one side. The other side read:

" _To the survivor of our pleasant little soirée,_

 _Congratulations! You aren't dead. Or, maybe you both are and this letter is going to sit in this shack until Festus has to re-up the enchantments. No matter. Assuming this is being read by at least one of you, I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my Family. The Dark Brotherhood. In the southwest reaches of Skyrim, in the Pine Forest, you'll find the entrance to our Sanctuary. It's just beneath the road, hidden from view. When questioned by the Black Door, answer with the correct passphrase: "Silence, my brother." Then you're in. And your new life begins. Of course, you could choose to go about your business. Since you've repaid your debt to us, I'll allow you to go free if you so choose. But you should know, should you choose the latter and decide to blab about our new relationship, I will personally make sure to scalp you._

 _I'll see you at home,_

 _Astrid"_

* * *

 _Fredas, 14_ _th_ _of Morning Star, 4E 180_

Jo'Kaasi entered the Sanctuary with a hop in his step. Mother had sent a letter to the inn in Morthal telling Jo'Kaasi to stay in the hold for a few days. Something about a surprise? Either way, he had enjoyed possibly the best seared slaughterfish. Not that he would ever tell Gabrielle that, of course. Suddenly, he detected an unfamiliar scentHe looked over to his left and saw a huge Dunmer in steel armor standing quietly by the forge. The elf easily stood taller than most Altmer, with the width and muscle one would imagine. His head was shaved bald, and his skin was a medium shade of gray. His red eyes were staring into the flames with a strange sense of sadness. Jo'Kaasi walked up to him and cleared his throat. The Dunmer whipped around, eyes suddenly hostile. Jo'Kaasi raised his hands, and grinned at the elf. "Relax, Brother. No one is going to stab you in the back," he said, "Just came over to get better acquainted a new member of the Family. I'm Jo'Kaasi. The Dark Brotherhood took me in when I was just a cub, and made me into what I am. In case you were wondering, what I am is a total badass." The elf's glare lost some of its edge, and he stuck out an armored hand.

"Dakarus Githyron," he said shortly. His voice was deep, and growled from what was probably a long life of drinking. Jo'Kaasi took the Dunmer's large hand as he continued speaking. "I was a guard in Raven Rock before I came to Skyrim. Lived in the Gray Quarter of Windhelm for a while. Worked as a mercenary. Did my best to make life a little more bearable to the rest of the Dunmer, until I couldn't take the abuse from those Nord bastards any longer. I ended up murdering two of the s'wits that would cause us trouble," he said. He shook his head angrily. "The bastards deserved it. They'd come into the Gray Quarter and run around the damn place drunk and causing as much misery for us as possible."

Jo'Kaasi nodded his head and grinned. "So you gave the fuckers what was coming to 'em. Not that you'd need a reason around here. As long as you do what Mother tells you, you'll do well here. She doesn't let just anyone into the Family."


End file.
